


Nights of Living Terror!

by vegetas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, WWDITS au, everybody is in this & everybody is stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegetas/pseuds/vegetas
Summary: when harry goodsir and his girlfriend decide to film a local british vampire coven for an upcoming halloween film festival they get a little more than they paid for.or, a "what we do in the shadows" au for Halloween Terrorfest 2019





	1. It's Alive!

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to do something silly and fun for terrorfest so this is what you're getting - the wwdits au you never asked for. each chapter will be based off of one of the prompts B^)
> 
> barely beta'd, as usual i live and die by my own sword.
> 
> please keep all arms and legs inside the car at all times & enjoy the RIDE

“This has got to be the place,” Harry said, shutting the door to the car a bit hard to be sure the latch caught. Silna looked up from where she was already digging around on the back seat bench, carefully taking their equipment out and setting it in a neat pile on the ground by her feet. 

Abandoning their boxy camera bags and milk crate full of miscellaneous articles for a moment she straightened up and leaned against the boot of the car to gaze up at the building rising conspicuously out of the gloom as her beardy, gangly boyfriend rounded to her side. 

Set back from the main road off a circular drive of uneven pave stone was  _ Franklin Abbey _ . It was modestly sized, as far as abbeys went, and surprisingly well intact from what Harry Goodsir could make out in the hazy light filtering down from the cloud cover. A summer storm had surprised them on their way up from London and the air was still damp and tinged an eerie green. 

Harry set his hands on his hips, stretching a bit as he took in the perimeter walls and the singular bell tower jutting up out of the mist, as well as the large and rather extensive country house situated next door, not even a quarter mile down the curving lane. 

The windows of the house were all conspicuously lit, and Harry’s brow furrowed, straining to hear what he thought was a deep base-thumping beat coming from somewhere near the lower right hand corner. 

Before he could investigate however, Silna was moving again - shoving his backpack into his arms as he tried to pass. 

“Sorry!” He said with a nervous laugh, shaking himself out of his temporary curiosity. There’d be plenty of time for all that later. Hopefully.

Silna raised her eyebrows and hefted the other cases in her hands, kicking the back door of the car closed with a slam. Harry checked his watch and then looked up at the sky, screwing his mouth up with worry. 

“You think this light will bother them?”

Silna sighed and rolled her eyes.  _ Stalling _ , she thought. But fair. They could literally be heading into the most obviously laid trap ever. 

She nudged the milk crate with her foot and Harry hastily slung his backpack over his shoulders, bending to pick it up.

Without a word she started the trek up the drive to the abbey’s impressive gate and slightly less impressive large wooden doors, Harry hurrying to catch up without jostling the contents of the milk crate too much as he did so.

“Well, I’m just saying,” he puffed as he fell into step with her. “It wouldn't make for a great first impression if we were too early. Especially in this case. Given the circumstances. I think he said eleven is when they get up, and it’s,” he checked his watch again, moving the crate to the crook of one elbow and tapping the digital face. “Nearly half past now, so I think we’re safe, but this light is making me a bit nervous.” 

As he spoke he skirted round a small fountain set in the front courtyard, nearly tripping when he caught his toe on a raised stone.

Silna put her arm out, keeping him from pitching face first into the ornate Gothic doors and he smiled sheepishly at her. It was easy to tell that there was more than just nerves about being punctual at play. 

“Should I knock? Do you think they... want us to knock? Do people knock at these sorts of things?” he whispered as they came to a stop in front of the large portal and Silna blinked. 

“Right -,” Harry began, straightening himself up and adjusting his backpack again. He lifted his fist with a quick exhale, poising to knock - 

Most unexpectedly, before he could set about to properly rap, or even go for the large and rather silly looking knocker shaped like a great yawning mouthed lion, the door to the abbey gave a low ominous groan and slowly began to creak open. Out of the dark a gaunt, pale (honestly, a bit ghoulish) countenance appeared from within. 

Harry and Silna stared at the listless expression on the man’s angular face. His deep-set half-lidded eyes scrolled between the two of them and he leaned a little more into the open doorway, blank. At first Harry and Silna believed that he was holding a candle, but soon it became apparent that the light emanating off of his face was coming from a cell phone he was holding.

A long moment drug out and then the man took a deep breath.

“Goodsir, I presume?”

“Yes!” Harry said, a bit too loudly for the occasion, thrusting out his hand. The man looked at it and his lips pursed. He extended his own long bony fingers and gripped Goodsir’s palm with a wince of disgust. “I’m Henry Goodsir, from the university - please call me Harry! And  _ thank you  _ again, so much, for letting us document you - we, um, have the paperwork all ready to go, and the insurance if you need to see it before we get going on the site -,”

“Sure. Sounds great,” the guy said, slouching his shoulder as Harry dropped the milk crate with a  _ clunk _ and began unzipping his bag. “I don’t need to see that.”   
  
“Oh,” Harry said, slowing his pawing through his backpack to a stop. “Ok?”

“Yeah,” the man went on, glancing at his nails for a moment and then setting his unimpressed gaze on Harry and Silna once more. “It’s… all fine. Whatever you’ve got,” he squinted at the bag and the pages he could see jutting from their manila envelope and wiggled his fingers at it. “Just. Keep the legal-eeze to yourself. None of them will know what the fuck it is. Especially John.”

“John -,” Harry said, glancing at Silna, who gave a slight frown. “Sorry, I was under the impression  _ you _ were John!”

“ _ Me _ ?” the man said breathlessly. Harry felt the gut-punch that only came from saying something unintentionally offensive. 

The man regarded him again and then rolled his eyes, repugnant. 

“God, let’s get this over with,” he muttered to himself, and then he was swinging the door wide so that Harry and Silna were now bathed in the yellowish light of faux electric candelabras set into the wall sconces and lining the great hall that served as the abbey’s entry way. 

“Thanks,” Harry said, for both of them, as he and Silna clamored for their gear and stepped inside onto the heavy berry-colored carpet runner. 

“Welcome to Franklin Abbey,” the guy (who was not-John but had not yet introduced himself), said bleakly. He let he shut the door behind them with an appropriate  _ ker-chunk  _ and Harry and Silna couldn’t help but meet eyes. 

“Thanks, again,” Harry tried, gunning for a do-over, but the man was already walking down the long end of the hall towards another set of doors. 

“This way,” he waved at them. He was a tall man, with sharp shoulders and what Harry figured were stylish clothes to go with his also quite stylish disinterest in what appeared to be everything around him all the time. As he held the next set of doors open Harry noticed the phone again as he thumbed at it. 

“Where we’re going, is that where you’ll want us to set up?” Harry huffed, taking the second case from Silna as they rearranged in the doorway. The guy looked up and made a sucking sound on the roof of his mouth. 

“Huh?”

“The - er, well, for the shooting, we were told we’d get a room to set up the main camera to serve for talking heads type interviews. We’ll have to go run back to the car for the light boxes, but we brought most of it with us here -So I just wanted to see if we could make sure we set it down before we met with anyone - you know, so it was secure -, and I’m sure everyone wants to get started right away. We really should scout, actually.”

“Right,” he sighed, shoulders going up and down dramatically. “I got a room all set up. So, it’s too late to turn back now. I’m taking you to Friar Tuck and the other  _ merry  _ men…,” he laughed dryly at his own private joke and then ushered them through the doors into another shorter hallway made of stone, small and important looking lighting illuminating several small and somewhat impressive looking paintings as they traveled. 

“It’s very clean!” Harry commented and the man gave a brusque  _ Ha _ in response. 

“You should see it after a cheat day,” he went on, taking a comically large key ring out of his pocket. It was shockingly old fashioned and clanged with several very large and medieval style keys and for a brief moment Harry felt a great deal of concern that they were about to be shuttled into a dungeon or something far worse.

“Which one of these bloody keys,” the man griped, sifting through them. “Give me a second,” he said, shooting them a look over his back and a flat smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “John’s very paranoid and likes to keep this entry locked up….which is totally pointless and a total pain in my  _ arse _ because we  _ never _ come through this way and I can’t remember what  _ fucking _ key it is -. ” He rattled the door handle and cursed, keys jingling discordantly as he went through the ring.

“Paranoid?” Harry said thinly, Silna side eyeing him. 

“One of those idiots from next door got in four years ago and stole St. John’s fucking leg,” he bit, finally forcing the ancient lock to turn. “Right out of the fucking reliquary - boot and fucking all - and buried it in the back garden. It was probably Hickey - he’s a bloody pervert.”

“A... leg, you say?” Harry said, a bit marveled and the man stiffened and again looked over his shoulder, this time wide-eyed. 

“Actually,  _ I _ didn’t say anything about that,” he whispered hurriedly before shoving the door open and holding it aside. 

They were passing through some tiny side door that gave them a glimpse of the sanctuary for a few moments before the man shepherded them along more dim hallways with slightly more interesting religious art. He was quick to observe, however, that many of the iconographic details had been covered in what appeared to be yellow sticky notes that just said words like “ _ cross _ ” and  _ “baby jesus”  _ with small bits of cloth and landscape showing in between.

“MILC,” Silna said as they passed and Harry swung around to stare at her, as did the man. Silna pointed to a painting on the wall with her elbow that had yet another collection of sticky notes covering the figure, only this time it only said exactly what Silna had reported.  _ MILC. _

The man doubled back a few paces.

“Oh, God, George’s been at it again,” he grumbled, hurriedly pulling the sticky notes off and shoving them in his pocket. 

“Should have known,” he said, as he stepped back to reveal the work.

“Is…” Harry began, looking at the grainy photograph of Mother Theresa staring placidly back at him. “There a particular... reason it was spelled with a “ _ c” _ ?”

The man put his hand on his hip, shaking his head at the portrait of the old woman. 

“I think it’s  _ Mum I’d Like To Corrupt _ .”

“ _ C...Corrupt _ ?”

“He’s got a bit of  _ thing  _ for nuns. I'm sure you'll see.”

* * *

While the Abbey itself seemed to function to some degree, as they got deeper inside it became more obvious that its primary function - and their entire reason for even _being _ there - was to serve as some kind of group home for vampires. This was, after all, the whole reason that Harry and Silna had come here in the first place. While they were relatively aware of vampires by merit of being members of several on-campus paranormal societies (it was where they had met, after all. Silna was putting on a talk on how cryptids should be in no way conflated with traditional Native or Indigenous folk lore when Harry had fallen in immediate and intense love with her) there was only one they had ever heard touted as a _Vampire Rehab_. The Abbott, a monk named John Irving, presided over the Abbey and maintained its upkeep and also, allegedly, had a system in place where vampires could apparently thrive without having to resort to what his rambling Chaucer-ian emails called _base habits_.   
  
Apparently, this meant that they didn't kill anyone. Or, at minimum, tried very hard not to kill anyone.   
  
When John accepted their invitation to be a subject for their amateur documentary project for the upcoming film festival at Cambridge it had all fallen together rather seamlessly. 

They passed through a parlor, and a long stately dining room, and a more informal looking living room as well, before coming to a closed door beside an exceptionally creaky looking staircase. The whole place reeked of apple-cinnamon wall plug ins and dusty potpourri and all the furniture was done up in scuffed heavy baroque scrollwork and thick floral upholstery and overstuffed throw cushions. There were a lot of fake plastic plants in the corners and very old magazines on every available surface.

It reminded Harry a lot less of a den for the living undead or even a proper facility of historical value and far more like his gran’s house. 

On one of the walls by a burnt-out looking tube television set was a huge school-project style piece of poster-board. The corners were a bit frayed and curled in, but save for one rather deliberate looking red hand-print smacked in the center it was covered in peeling gold stars, like what you’d see in a kindergarten classroom. At a glance all he could make out was that it was some sort of chore chart. 

By now Silna and Harry’s arms were becoming very tired, but they dared not complain again to the man who came to a halt in front of the door and set to rapping on it with his knuckles.

“Brother John,” he said loudly before rolling his eyes. “I’ve got those kids from the uni here for their little movie.”

“Er - we’re grad students -and it’s actually a documentary for a very reputable film festival -,” Harry tried to explain, but the man was not listening. 

There was a brief shudder of sound from within the room and the man rolled his eyes before he cleared his throat loudly. 

“Are you ready to see them now?” He went on, sounding extremely impatient. “The others aren’t up yet, so I figured you’d want to have a go at them first.”

“Yes, Billy - please send them in,” came a muffled, but pleasant sounding voice. Harry and Silna looked at the man -  _ Billy _ \- expectantly and before Billy could move the door itself swung open on its own and warm light spilled out. 

“I can take that,” Billy said, reaching for the camera case Harry was holding. 

“Oh, you don’t -,” Harry started, but Billy was already wrestling it out of his hand, the case  _ thunking _ to the ground. He turned his attention to Silna next, who grimaced as Billy lugged what she was holding up under his arm and then began to drag them both off down the hall towards some unknown room, literally kicking the milk crate along. 

“Master Henry?”

The pleasant voice sounded again, and Silna and Harry turned just in time to see what was clearly  _ Brother John  _ judging by his tonsure and wool frocks standing right in front of them. He gave them a bright, toothy smile, his two fangs poking at his bottom lip, standing out against his dark beard. 

“I’m so pleased to finally be meeting you,” he said. “Welcome, won’t you please come in?”

He stepped aside, the rope at his waist swinging as he held out his arm. 

“Usually people think it’s the other way around,” John said, sensing their hesitation, and they both snapped their attention back to the literal vampire ushering them into his office, complete with motivational posters on the wall and a clock that made bird sounds on the hour and a monitor featuring the Windows XP aquarium screensaver. “You know, a little vampire humor. _ You have to be invited in _ ,” John went on with mock seriousness, and Harry gave a dizzy laugh. 

“S-Sorry,” he said, shaking his head and staring at the man who was now wringing his hands a little. “I’m sorry, is that a - ,” he pointed to John’s neck and John looked down in surprise. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” he exclaimed, pulling the chain out from within his heavy brown mantle. “Yes, well, you know, can’t really wear the r-o-s-a-r-y,” he said in an obvious stage whisper. He was now holding the giant red heart at the end of a bright red beaded novelty necklace up for them to see with a grin. It said  _ Valentine _ on it in faded white lettering. “But this is nearly the same thing. Symbolically.” 

Harry and Silna stared at the red plastic heart. 

“Would you mind so much,” Harry managed to get out. “If we actually - just - went and grabbed the hand held.”

“I have it,” Silna said, already going for the bag on her waist that Billy hadn’t managed to get off of her. 

"Of course," John said. "Wouldn't want you to miss anything!"

* * *

“Are you getting this?” Harry whispered as Silna gave him a solid thumb’s up, adjusting the lens as they walked. They'd finally escaped the droll and seemingly endless prattle about John's intentions for the documentary and were now  trailing after John who was taking them on what he called the  _ full  _ tour, which was a great opportunity for them to scout locations and get a sense for the lighting. Harry knew it was going to be complex, what with it being filmed solely between sundown and sun-up but the added charisma of the Abbey itself and its enigmatic subjects was definitely creating a long list of unique challenges. 

They’d already seen the sanctuary (though most of the iconography had been similarly covered up), the back gardens (complete with orchard), the old dormitory no longer in use (including the punishment cells) and were starting to go into what John mentioned was a rarely used part of the Abbey. 

“So, just to get a head start on some of this background,” Harry said, trying to match step with John without being to blatant about staring at him or his very bald head. “You’re from the -,” he flipped through his notes, clicking his pen. “12th century?”

“Thirteenth,” John said sagely, nodding his head. They were going down a passage and John magically managed to procure keys from his robes to unlock a door and waved them inside with a happy grin. 

“This was the infirmary -,” he said, showing them the long room with its rows of boarded up windows. “Back in the day our orders usually served as public institutions - infirmaries, hospitals, homes for travelers. As you can see it’s primarily storage now,” he went on to say, all of them crowded in the door to look at the overwhelming amount of boxes and shelving units that had been erected. Silna zoomed in on lawn chair covered in pink flamingos stood up in one corner and tangled volleyball net in the other. “We have a lot of time, which generates a lot of hobbies.” He slid a box holding a lot of what looked like yarn out of the way. 

Harry nodded approvingly. 

“But we’re still a Historic Site,” John was quick to point out, glancing at the camera. “That took a lot of work. But  _ very _ worth it. Bureaucracy is the  _ real _ horror, right?” 

"Right," Harry agreed as John gave them a hopeful grin.

“Thirteenth century, that’s, well,” Harry went on, still boggling at the fact. He raked a hand through his fluffy black curls. “I mean that’s really incredible.”

“Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday,” John commented, folding his hands serenely. “I mean, I still keep the same attitudes. Strive to serve. That’s really the point, you know. And, well, thankfully, the look hasn't changed.”

“I’m amazed you’ve kept your faith so long,” Harry continued, with utmost sincerity. “What with your current state.”

“Yes,” John sighed. He edged out of the infirmary and began to shut the door once more. “It’s an affliction,” he went on. “To be certain. I believed, at the time, that the devil himself had come to wreak havoc - turns out it was just a literal vampire on a binge and well...brotherhood of monks. Virginity guaranteed. Sort of like a all you can eat buffet just sitting there...”

“Is there something about virgin blood?” Harry said, trying not to sound so deadpan as he said it. John’s face grew wistful.   
  
“You know when they switched that Coke recipe and everyone in America was going on about it being made with no sugar and then they got the _Mexican_ Cokes and it had the real sugar? It’s like that.”  
  
There was a heavy moment of silence as Harry and Silna processed this comment.

“Got it.”

“Anyway, it was purely coincidental that I should be singled out to be changed. Nearly all the brothers in the order were wiped out at once and I was quite stunned to find myself alive. And also a demented creature of the night for all eternity subjected to the brutal need to commit unspeakable atrocities in order to survive.”

He passed them and they turned to follow as he lead them down the hall, still speaking.    
  
“But,” he paused and pointed directly up. “The man upstairs burdens us all, and after I had my… er…  _ spell  _ of temptation I found that perhaps I was a missionary, if you will, to those like me. I mean, well, every animal has its appetites. What is blood lust except another, really? And with the right productive outlets and aestheticism I’ve managed to keep  _ many _ vampires on the straight-and-narrow. It’s all about keeping the mind active and engaged! Exercise, music, volunteer work, all very effective. Which brings me to one of my favorite spots!” he went to a door in the hall and started to open it. “The art room -,”

As John opened the door his face immediately became a frown of deep dismay as an overwhelming and very in-human screech flooded the hall, nearly blowing Harry and Silna’s hair back. A sudden splash of what  _ could _ have been red paint rocketed out of the room and splattered on the opposite wall. 

John shut the door with a bang and pressed his back against it.    
  
“Apologies it appears that Mr. Collins is already up and having a - er -  _ inspired _ moment,” he rushed, hurrying them along. As they passed the door Harry thought he heard a low Gregorian chanting coming from the room and a wild strobing light seemed to pour under the threshold. “I’ll have to get Billy to handle that mess…,”

“Mr. Collins is a vampire?”

“Yes,” John answered in a thin voice, whisking along the corridor. “He’s a bit of a tough nut but he’s really taken on to art therapy.”

“How many vampires do you have currently, in residence?”   
  
“I have four under my care, currently,” John said. "Mr. Collins, Mr. Morfin, Mr. Peglar, and Mr. Hartnell -,"

“Billy mentioned someone named  _ George _ ? He had written something a bit cheeky on a picture of Mother Theresa.”

John suddenly stopped in his walk and an unnatural energy bristled the air. John turned around, his bowl cut hanging over his eyes. 

“He did… what?”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. 

“I - uh.”

“I would prefer if we kept subject matters strictly to the Abbey and my rehabilitation program,” he said with a faint hiss in his voice, his eyes going an unnatural shade of red. Harry’s brain began to rattle off a lot of facts about the  _ Black Monk of Pontefract  _ with alarming speed and accuracy, none of them helpful. 

“Sure,” Harry offered, stepping a little closer to Silna. “I - we can cover whatever you like, but I really. I would  _ love _ to profile all of you if I can, for the most material,” he went on, trying to stay as even and polite as he could while John began to hover about six inches off of the floor, his frock whipping around in invisible winds. 

“It is important for us all not to get distracted,” he said, the electric lights in the hall began to dim and Silna looking down as her camera began to drain and go grainy. “And maintain a sense of discipline. So nobody gets off track. For the _program_.”

“A-Absolutely -,”

Just as Harry was beginning to think that this had all been a massive mistake, there was a faint  _ whoosh _ to the air as a door slammed open somewhere and footsteps followed. 

“I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille!”

John, who by now was starting to look less like a humble thirteenth century friar pulled straight out of an old fable and more like something out of  _ The Exorcist _ whipped around and all the dark energy in the room evaporated in a  _ zap _ that left Harry’s hair staticky. 

“Speak of the devil and he appears,” John grit as he dropped to the ground and wheeled on the man - vampire -now standing at the other end of the hall. In a graceful way he lifted off the floor and drifted over, flashing Silna a heavy wink that made her deeply confused as he did so. “I told you to stay upstairs!”

“And miss all this?” the man who spoke said, looking pointedly at Harry and Silna and grinning. He was very pale with a faintly-red mouth and hair arranged in three erratic points on his head. He was also, Harry and Silna noted, wearing a bright lime green polyester shirt tucked into a very impressive yellow pair of pants and a round pair of sunglasses inside at nearly midnight. “You’re really going for that  _ Hollywood _ effect John, I’m loving the energy! Very groovy.”

John’s face, which was puckered like he was sucking on a lemon, grew even more sour.    
  
“I’m not going for groovy or Hollywood,” he huffed, pulling his frock with a jerk. “I’m attempting to be  _ professional _ and  _ you _ already trying to make this a farce, as usual,” he continued balling his fists as he lowered his face. “They saw your  _ defilement. _ ” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

“What’s that? Oh, my little sticky note project, eh?” the man said brightly, coming closer to sling his arm around John who tried desperately to shrug him off.He leaned towards Harry and smirked. “I’d like to get my fangs in that old bird ...she’s got a  _ naughty _ streak you can just tell. Just wish looking at her head on didn't give me hives.”

“She’s dead. Also, she wasn’t a very good nun. Very corrupt already.”

Harry and Silna jumped as they heard a low rumbling voice just behind them and scrambled to turn in time to see yet another man standing there. 

“Ed! You’re up! Just in time for our big debut,” the man, who Harry assumed was George, tittered, and John’s exasperated sigh followed. 

The man in front of them now was looming more than standing, which seemed to be his natural state. He was stocky and Harry and Silna couldn't decide if he was shorter or taller than John or George, but he had a very dark thick head of hair and very thick mutton chops obscuring most of his face. He was also wearing a white t-shirt that said  _ Big Dog _ on it with a literal Big Dog leering out and its huge furry arms crossed, cargo shorts, and some kind of leather flip flop on his feet. Paired with his obviously old fashioned haircut and whiskers it made for a deeply incongruous image. 

As Silna and Harry tried to comprehend what they were seeing the man raised a heavy bag of syrupy red blood to his mouth and sucked on a straw poked into the top plastic valve. 

“Did you say she was dead?” George chimed as Harry and Silna watched the man drain half the blood bag in one go. 

“Yeah,” he said in that same gruff voice. His eyes narrowed and he peered down his nose at Harry and Silna. “This that thing?” He gestured with the blood bag and then took another healthy sip of it. 

“It’s a d-documentary,” Harry stuttered, watching the blood be pulled upwards into his mouth like he was drinking out of a very weird juice box. 

“Like _The Office_?” His heavy brow furrowed. 

Harry’s mouth dropped open a fraction. 

“That’s a  _ mockumentary _ ,” George said and Ed glanced between Harry and Silna to him. 

“Mockumentary?”

“Like a  _ joke. _ "

“This is  _ serious _ ,” John sputtered, interrupting them, and Ed tilted his head back at the remark, Harry and Silna swinging back to their host. “This is - This is important, this isn’t a  _ joke _ . They're going to be here for weeks and I won't have you spoiling it with your usual nonsense!” 

“Lighten up Johnny,” George scoffed, slapping his hand on John’s bald head and rubbing it briskly. “We’re not going to spoil anything! We’re just going to give them a real picture of it all. Isn’t that right, Ed?”

“Sure,” Ed said and there was a dry sound as he sucked the bag dry and then crushed it in his hand, tossing it on the floor. 

“Edward!” John barked and Ed shrugged. 

“Billy’ll get it,” he said. “He should do _something_ around here. We’re out of O by the way. That was the last one.” He scratched lightly at his shoulder as he spoke, staring directly at Harry and Silna a bit too intensely for them to feel comfortable. 

“God dammit man! Stop drinking all the O! You know I love O!” George cried. “Now I’ll have to drink the AB and it’s going to give me heartburn…,”

“Sorry,” Ed said flatly. 

John was rubbing his temples. 

“I’ll put in a word with Stanley,” Ed said after a moment.

“You don’t happen to be Catholic?” George said after a moment, addressing the two humans standing crowded between the three vampires in the narrow corridor. He had one pale eyebrow arched dramatically and his tongue darted out to rub at his fang. Harry blanched. 

“No,” he said and George sighed in disappointment.

“Shame. I think Catholics have a very  _ piquant _ after dinner taste…”

“NOBODY,” John said jabbing his finger between George and Ed. “Is eating the filmmakers! This is our one chance at giving ourselves some  _ decent _ press and I won’t have anyone throwing that away for a snack!”

“Well, obviously now that I know they're not!” George said, with his hands on his hips. “I was just  _ asking _ .”

“I prefer protestants,” Ed shrugged. He looked at Harry haplessly. “Catholics have this forward thing. Very herby. Like a mint or something.” He wrinkled his nose. 

“See, I like that,” George went on, fully leaning on John, and John began to drag at his face with both hands. 

Silna did the only thing she could - which was lift the camera up once more to her eye to continue filming. 


	2. Never Sleep Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading this and supporting it. we are all - valid -.

“Would you mind stating your name?” Harry asked, checking the monitor as Silna puttered around, fussing with the lights. 

“William Gibson,” Billy said. He was slumped on the chair in front of the camera, watching them both with a growing interest. “Are you going to have those little banner things? That say what our names are?”

Harry paused in adjusting the camera. 

“Sure,” he replied. Decent idea, actually. Would definitely up production value. He could probably get his brother to rig something up in a flash. “Are you concerned about going by your real name?”

“No,” Billy sighed, fidgeting. Harry could tell that he probably wanted to go for his phone and hurried to get everything set. Silna gave him a thumbs up which knew she was good on her end and she slipped her headphones over her ears.

“I think we’re ready,” Harry nodded, tongue darting between his teeth as he made the final calibration. “Great. You look great!” he said cheerfully and Billy grimaced, but sat up a little straighter and pawed a bit at his curls. 

“From the start then, like we talked about?” 

“Yes, exactly,” Harry confirmed, sitting back a bit and watching carefully. “How you came to be at the Abbey, and some of the day to day you showed us earlier. Just. More of a narration.” 

“Well,” Billy began. “I was looking for something to do after school, and I’d been doing desk work at a hotel. Which was fine. But then I saw an advert for a live-in housekeeper for  _ Three Handsome Vampires  _ and I was like.  _ Well _ . Sounds pretty kinky,” Billy tilted his head at Harry who gave an awkward chuckle.

“Besides, the advert claimed it paid very well and I wouldn’t have to renew the lease at my flat - and I was already working nights so it felt obvious.”

Sensing he should go on, Billy put his elbows on the arms of the chair, folding his hands on his lap. 

“So, I came on, at which point I believe that they explained to me that I wasn’t going to be a housekeeper but their familiar and also that they were vampires.”

“Who did the interview?”

“John,” Billy said. “Though, I think the whole thing had been George’s idea. The advert, I mean. John was very upset about the  _ implications _ . Didn’t stop him from hypnotizing me because they were in a bit of a desperate need, but he made it extremely clear that everyone was going to stay - how did he put it -  _ intact _ .”

“You mentioned earlier,” Harry said, glossing over the complaints. “That you actually were very...ok with the whole vampire thing. Both initially and now.”

Billy looked indignant.

“I thought it was going to be all velvet drapes and hedonism, you know, like they’d pour wine on me and lick it off or something,” the familiar answered, seeming deeply irritated. “You know, very sexy! Like  _ Interview With The Vampire _ . Antonio Banderas and Brad Pitt and all - but turns out I show up and it’s these three fucking brickheads…,” he trailed off, shaking his head and touching his hairline. “I mean you  _ saw _ , right? It’s like a nursing home around here.”

Harry and Silna had both seen and could not help but agree. 

They’d arrived a bit earlier than scheduled because Billy offered to give them enough time to do more precise scouting and explore locations and to play around with the lighting. It was also, as Harry saw it, a good opportunity for them to see a more  _ dressed down _ view of the Abbey which was what they were going for. The night prior had ended as a wash, Harry and Silna driving back to their small rented room in the town square in stunned silence trying to comprehend what exactly they’d witnessed.

Just before things got too hairy Billy appeared out of frightfully thin air and herded them out of the hallway, cajoling them all with threats of  _ nanny getting the wooden spoon _ . 

While the three housemates bickered Billy cordially invited Harry and Silna to relax, and he’d put on some tea in the kitchen where they ran into the other residents of the Abbey.

By “ran into the other residents” they caught several disheveled looking just-woke-up vampires (Mr. Morfin, Mr. Hartnell, and Mr. Peglar respectively) pouring what amounted to several gallons of bagged blood into a huge container for what they were calling “a breakfast bowl”.

George, it must be said, thought it was brilliant. 

_ No no, call it an eightball! _ He was saying, coming over to inspect. 

John thought it was decidedly Not Brilliant. Ed was mostly concerned with whether there was any left for later.

The fight that erupted had been mind-bending, to say the least, and a lot of blood had sloshed onto the floor and subsequently Harry and Silna. 

The next evening they showed up around eight pm, Billy answering the door as he had before and then the prep, as he called it, began. 

“First I go around everywhere and make sure all the lights are turned on,” he said, leading them through the maze of the Abbey. He didn’t really do anything, and Harry and Silna realized that the lights seemed to  _ always _ be turned on, save for upstairs, which he would show them later.

He then did a lot of very meager hoovering, half-assed dusting and a few dishes. The most attention he seemed to pay was to the cheese sandwich he made and a depressing luke-warm bowl of Chef Boyardee.

“Would you like any?” he said, suddenly remembering that Silna and Harry were there. They politely declined. 

“I’m sure you all think I’m mad,” he said between mouthfuls at the tiny kitchen table. The bin behind him was teeming with blood bags which gave the air an odd metallic smell, but he assured them  _ trash duty _ was not his, but Morfin’s this week. “But,” he continued, swishing his fork through the air and holding his chin on his palm. “Its a solid gig, in a lot of ways. I don’t have to pay anything, for one. And, because  _ John _ ,” he rolled his eyes. “I don’t have to, like, find victims. I know a few familiars who have to do that and it’s such a bother. All this kind, that kind, you know. Fussy."   
  
“Good Lord,” Harry muttered. 

“I know,” Billy said, giving him a look. “Can you imagine the mess? They make enough on their own with just the bags, but just to like.  _ Eat _ people. Like really eat people. I only have to deal with that like once a quarter and it’s  _ hell _ .”

“Are those the cheat days you mentioned?” 

Billy scraped the bottom of his bowl with the crust from his sandwich, harrowed.

“Think Mardi Gras.” 

Harry didn’t need to get him to explain to paint a vivid picture in his head.

“The big thing is that eventually,” Billy swallowed a sip of coffee when they’d all recovered, his eyes sly. “They’ll make  _ me  _ a vampire.”

“Really,” Harry said with new excitement. That was certainly a development. Billy smirked. 

“Before I’m thirty,” he said gleefully. “Can you even imagine.” 

Harry and Silna simultaneously confronted the fact that they hadn’t realized Billy was in his twenties. It was probably because he looked like he hadn’t slept or seen the sun in fifty years and was subsisting solely on frozen pizza and an ungodly amount of Pepsi.

Following his dinner, Billy did a huge load of unsorted laundry in the freezing basement and then, at some point, stopped windexing a china cabinet altogether and flopped on the sofa in the sitting room and flicked on the news, which he did not watch as his eyes were glued to his phone. 

* * *

At about ten thirty PM Billy stood up, stretched, shut off the TV, brushed out the wrinkles in his shirt and said it was about time to wake them all up. There were four rooms upstairs - one for Ed, George and John, and a larger room that housed the other four vampires, their coffins set out neatly in a row. 

“John gives them demerits if it isn’t kept tidy,” Billy said, as though he could hear Harry and Silna thinking back on the mess from yesterday. “You know, no TV time. Extra duties. He’s made Morfin do laps before. I’m only supposed to look after the big three, technically -,”

As he spoke he went down the row of coffins and gave them each a light tap with his shoe. 

“Rise and shine lads,” he said and there were some muffled grumbles and the sound of things turning inside. The lid to one of the coffins slid aside with a rattle and a very sleepy blonde young man rose up from within it, scratching his head.

“Evenin’,” he yawned, floating down to the floor and blearily pushing past all of them on the way to the restroom down the hall, a towel slung over one shoulder. 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you and Peglar playing your Switch after lights out, Hartnell,” Billy said and Hartnell didn’t reply but gave him a rude hand gesture. 

The rest of the coffins remained motionless and Billy threw up his hands. 

“They’ll get up,” he muttered, stalking out of the room, Harry and Silna following. 

“Good morning Brother John,” Billy said loudly as he entered his quarters.

John’s room was sparse - the furniture befitting a man who had been born sometime between 1230 and 1240 (John admitted he couldn’t rightly remember anymore, but the record was probably somewhere). There was a plane pine coffin as well as an unfinished chest and chair and there was only one candle stick on a desk with a low bench. There were a few books on the shelves, some of them  _ ancient _ looking, and a single quill on the blotter. This all served to make the very complicated looking stereo system in one corner look even more complicated and expensive. 

“He’s a bit of an audiophile,” Billy whispered, jerking his head at it. “He plays the Vienna boy’s choir  _ constantly _ .” 

As if on cue it buzzed to life, blaring  _ O Lux Aeterna _ as John rose from his box with a happy stretch.    
  
“Good morning Billy,” he said tranquilly. “Good morning Master Goodsir, Silna.” He nodded to them and Silna waved from behind her camera. 

“I’ve just been showing them around this evening,” Billy said, going to the chest and setting out the single set of robes John apparently possessed.

“Wonderful,” John said. “I hope you’ll forgive us for last night, everyone should be very much on the same page now.” 

He stood there, looking apologetic in his long night shirt and a small sleeping coif, and Harry and Silna couldn’t help but be forgiving. 

In George’s room (which Billy unironically called  _ The Shag Pad _ ) Harry has to stifle a shocked laugh at the colors that assault his eyes: avocado green and terra cotta and goldenrod swirling on the wallpaper like they were being sucked down a drain. 

The air was stale and there was a filled ashtray on the coffee table and hundreds of records in loose paper boxes all over the floor. Framed posters of James Bond and Farah Fawcett crookedly hung on the walls and George also had a truly  _ crazy _ collection of ‘antique’ toys and other random appliances on shelves and bookcases to make up for every other remaining inch. As Billy dusted them Harry drifted over to a corner, noticing one of those electric upright organs he vaguely remembered toying with as a child at an old aunt’s house. 

“Does he play?” Harry asked innocently, pushing a tab that said _Bossa Nova_ down, and Billy stared at the organ for a long time before turning back to him. 

“Yes,” he responded, but the cadence sounded a lot more like  _ unfortunately. _

Billy laid out a newspaper and tossed a bag of blood onto a long, low, burnt sienna sectional and then trotted back out into the hall to pull in yet another ancient hoover out of the closet to vacuum the impressive shag rug covering 4/5ths of the room. 

It was extremely loud and Harry couldn’t be certain if it was even  _ doing anything _ . 

“Where’s the coffin?” Silna pointed out, having to raise her voice over the sound of the vacuum cleaner and it took several tries to get Billy to notice. He stopped and pointed to a huge sea-foam green armoire with a quilt covering it. 

“He doesn’t like the coffin. He says it makes him feel old,” Billy explained, letting the vacuum run once more and then double checking to be sure the floor-length forest green drapes were still safely in place in case of any stray sunlight. 

Within a few seconds the armoire doors flung open, throwing the quilt clear off of it so that it landed on Billy’s head. Out of the chaos George appeared, fully dressed, today in a bright teal checked leisure suit. 

“ _ Good _ evening,” he said emphatically, lowering his sunglasses at them. “How are we today? Didn’t let us scare you off?”

“Not quite,” Harry offered and George grinned while Billy helplessly fought with the quilt.

“Gorgeous night,” George went on, trotting over to the record player, bending down to start rifling through the rack at the bottom of it. “I feel fantastic. Ready to carpe noctem, as they say!” He pulled a record out and set it on the player, cranking the volume as soon as the melody crackled through so that it covered the low hypnotic hum from John’s room next door. 

“Oh yeah,” he said, snapping along with a snare drum. “That is the  _ stuff _ .” He wheeled on Silna and Harry, whisking the album cover up in front of him. “Love Theme. Barry White & The Love Unlimited Orchestra. 1973.  _ Pure. _ _ Class._”

“It’s,” Harry started, listening to the song which was sort of like the background music to a really bad late-night infomercial. “Something.”

George began to groove in place, still snapping. 

“It makes me think of the old days, me and the gang,” he went on. “Gals dressed to the nines, tuxedos, night out with the lads, all of us cheering each other on, all of us high as kites, not a care in the world,” he did a loose box step.

“All of it champagne and lobster tails, darling! Oh thank you  _ very _ much you know what I mean?” He wagged his eyebrows at Harry and then darted his gaze to Silna before finger-gunning at her. 

Harry didn’t say anything and Silna finger gunned right back to Harry’s utter disbelief. 

“See! She gets it!” George laughed at the expression on Harry’s face. “Is Ed up?” he went on, the music continuing in an endless loop. 

“I’m about to go check,” Billy said, finally folding the quilt and throwing it on the ground by the armoire. 

“Great, I could go for a spot of brekky,” George smiled, hands on his hips. “Any word from Stanley on when we’re getting more O in?” 

“No,” Billy said and George sighed dramatically, flopping onto the sofa while the Love Theme continued on and picked up his paper. 

"You do this every night?" Silna said, and Billy gave her a hollow eyed stare. 

"Every night." 

* * *

Finally, Billy brought them to Edward’s room, which was at the back of the hallway and farthest away from the others. 

  
"He prefers his privacy,” Billy said blankly, unlocking the room (the only one he did so with) and slipping inside. “Wait just a moment,” he said, before letting them follow. “Sometimes he gets up early and … let’s just say he spooks easily.”

There was a little bit of rustling about and then Billy opened the door for them to come inside. 

Edward’s room was in some ways more bizarre than the others, and in others the most normal. 

The first thing that they noticed was a hodge-podge desktop computer arranged on a L-shaped desk in one corner, and the second was that the long, dark, coffin pushed neatly next to the wall had an enormous horse decal on it. It was the kind of wrap-around sticker sort that you would see on a van. Or a car. The size and shape difference of the coffin versus, say, a full vehicle, caused the horse to look a bit warped beyond recognition.

While Harry studied the decal from a distance Silna was drawn to a large cork-board where there were polaroid pictures. 

“Oh, don’t mind that,” Billy said, waving her off. Silna squinted at the pictures, following them with the camera. “He’s a little food-motivated,” he went on and Harry followed his girlfriend over to investigate. 

“These are all pictures of bread,” Harry whispered, staring at them. Silna's mouth was twisted up uncertainly.They were. Just loaves of bread with the types and dates written underneath. 

“Does he make them himself?” 

“Yeah,” Billy said, rummaging in a mini-fridge by the desk for a blood bag which he cut open with a pair of scissors and squeezed obscenely into a coffee mug that said  _ Born in A Barn _ which he then set next to a mouse pad with the silhouette of a man fishing. “He’s quite good at it, actually, but I had to make him stop because I was getting heavier with all those carbs... also a word to the wise, if he sees you eating he’s going to ask about it and he can be relentless.”

He wandered over to the coffin and rapped on it a few times.    
  
“Ed, kettle’s on,” he said on a sigh and there was a slow creak as the coffin lid came up, banging clumsily on the wall. 

“Thanks Billy,” he said, sleep rough, sitting up. 

“Harry and Silna are also joining us again this morning,” Billy added and Edward looked over at them, rubbing his whiskered face, saying nothing and seeming a little nervous.

“Just act normally!” Harry said, to ease the tension. “And love your work with the bread, by the way.”

Edward’s eyes wandered to the cork board and he nodded to himself. 

“Yeah,” he went on, climbing out of the coffin. “Always been a big fan. Really miss it.” He went to the desk and sleepily picked up the coffee mug and took a drink of the blood which stained his upper lip. 

“I can imagine,” Harry agreed. 

“Back in the day I could go into the kitchen at the inn and have a bit of bread or a bun before I went into the stable. Really was the stuff. Or like, a little bit of cheese on bread, and you toast it a little. Really good.”

“You worked at an inn?” 

“Yeah,” Ed said, between drinks. “I was an ostler.” 

“Ostler,” Harry repeated.

“It’s like rent-a-car for horses,” Billy chimed. Edward shrugged. 

“I worked there for a while, even after I changed. Always wanted to be an Ostler.”

“It’s great to have passions,” Harry said and Edward took another long sip of the blood, his hand in the pocket of the hoodie he was wearing. He was wearing pretty much the same thing as last night, only instead of proper shorts he was sporting some plaid pajama bottoms.

“I think it’s really interesting that you don’t - er, that you dress very contemporary,” Harry said. “I’d love to get more of your opinion about that.”

“Pockets,” Edward said resolutely, and Harry blinked at him. “Tons of pockets on clothes today. Back then I could only have one or two in the jacket, maybe, but now they’ve got those cargo pockets. You can put all sorts of things in there… money, rocks. Blood bags. Very practical. Don’t know why George and John don’t want to get with it…”

“Good morning Edward,” John’s voice sounded from behind them, like he'd been summnoned. “I wanted to, um, be sure you were getting up alright?”

Edward held up his coffee mug and John smiled in some unspoken relief. 

“OI!” George said, crowding John in the doorway as well. “Let’s have breakfast on the veranda, shall we?”

“It’s not a veranda,” John clipped. “It’s just the back garden -,”

“Gorgeous night, Ed. Any new emails?”

“Haven’t gotten to it,” Edward said, looking at his computer. 

“Just read the paper, it’s clear tonight, so,” George snapped at Billy. “Set up my lawn chair and bring out the cooler!"

“Sure,” Billy sighed, stowing his phone which he had taken out in the interim. 

“Come on then, John, you could use a little fresh air,” George said, shaking John by the shoulder before turning and zooming off down stairs with a mock salute. 

“I have to do the group meetings,” John said, righting his mantle. “The boys need a  _ stern _ talking to after last night, I haven’t forgotten,” he was quick to add, looking purposefully at Harry and Silna. “Oh, by the way Ed, we have a ghost tour tonight, do you mind filling in?”

“No problem,” Edward said. “Usual?”

“Would be great. Just some banging on the pipes and that thing where you make their phone go all fuzzy. I’ve got George on bat duty.” 

“Ugh, a  _ tour _ ?” Billy griped. “I was going to have a hookup come over…” 

Harry and Silna both went stiff.

“Apologies for getting in the way of your study session,” John said sincerely.

“Can’t be helped,” Billy replied. “I’ll just tell him we’ll reschedule.”

“Billy’s doing some extra tutoring sessions on the side! He’s helped lots of young men!” John said, smiling again and fiddling with his heart necklace. “You use that little thing!” He pointed at Billy’s phone.

"That's... fantastic," Harry said slowly. 

“Yep,” Billy said, tapping something into his phone. “That great...tutoring app. Grindr.”

“I thought a grinder was a sandwich,” Ed sounded.    
  
“Oh?” John went on.    
  
“Yeah… like… there are hoagies,” he said, holding his hand out, and then moving it horizontally in the air. “And grinders. They’re open-faced.”

“Yep,” Billy said absently.

“Why would they name a study app after a sandwich?” John posited, a little wrinkle coming between his brows.

“Hungry for knowledge, I guess,” Billy quipped.

“We ought to use that app for cheat days,” Ed said after a moment of thought. “Lots of virgins, I bet.” 

There was a beat of silence before Billy began to hack with laughter. 


End file.
